Chaotic Christmas
by LongingforWinter
Summary: Even in the midst of an apocalypse, Gilbert Beilschmidt couldn't help but worry about a certain person: his beloved Basch Zwingli. One-shot. Post Apocalyptic AU. Rated K for language. Prussia/Switzerland.


"No news from Squad Three yet?"

Those words mercilessly tore the silence for the umpteenth time. Gilbert eyed the men expectantly, hopefully. Much like the last time this very question was uttered, none could provide an answer. He waited a few minutes for someone to speak up, but when none did, he sighed. All he could do was pray they'd find some shelter for tonight—yes, zombies weren't much active at night, but one could never know with all the weird stuff happening lately.

A body plopped itself next to Gilbert. He didn't even have to look to know who—the shine of the laptop immediately gave this person's identity away.

"Look, Gilbert," Eduard murmured, a long finger pointing at the screen. Gilbert had to give it to him—the bastard was great with technology. Who would've thought he'd find a way to charge his precious computer, even with the lack of electricity? Who would've thought he'd come up with a device that'd track down every squad? Not Gilbert, that's for sure. "this was the route Squad Three had to take, yes? The dot is blue, meaning they're all alive and well. So stop worrying."

A low huff emerged from Gilbert's throat. Technology should never be trusted, regardless of how useful it might be. But, he supposed he was now somewhat calmer. Somewhat—he'd be completely calm when he'd hear the password be whispered from the other side. Then, he'd know Basch was completely safe and sound, and they'd spend one more night together alive.

That and the fact they'd finally be able to move away from this crappy place they currently were hiding in. The air was so thick, it was almost tangible. It was hot, and the fact the men were all pressed against each other didn't make it any better. The worst part of this place was its untidiness. It was driving Gilbert mad, almost to the point of standing up and wiping the place clean with his shirt. But that wasn't possible.

Nearly an hour had passed since he last asked. It sure felt like it, at least. Most were lost in their thoughts. Those who weren't were too afraid to break the heavy silence, which interrupted solely by the tapping of the keys.

It seemed the cute, yet surprisingly strong, Finnish man wasn't one of those scared men. "Eduard, what does the red light mean?" Timo knew, yet he asked. Eduard knew. Gilbert knew. Heck, even someone as obliviously stupid as Antonio knew!

Gilbert stumbled off his seated position, startling the sweet Irina who was trying her hardest to comfort her shaken up brother. Gilbert's had died a long time ago—but he honestly didn't want to think of that now. There were more pressing issues he had to attend to before unnecessarily depressing himself.

"What the holy hell are ye talking about, Timo?" He _politely_ asked, leaning over his shoulder. Hazel eyes met sea green, before they turned to Gilbert. An apologetic smile formed in Timo's lips, sweat dribbling down his forehead.

"E-exactly what I mean, Gil…" He murmured sadly, gently closing the laptop's lid. For once, Eduard didn't protest. Gilbert stared at the Finn blankly, mentally praying they were playing some sort of cruel joke on him to kill some time. These sorts of jokes weren't uncommon—boredom made mankind a careless savage.

Gilbert laughed. Though it was more of a nervous laughter. But he was laughing. Everyone in the room eyed him as though he had grown a tail and bunny ears. Certainly, they must've believed he was going mad. He probably was, for all he knew.

Minutes passed until his laughter ceased. The room was dead silent once again—not even the sound of laptop keys being pressed was present. No one dared to say something in fear Gilbert would lash out at them. They knew he wasn't that sort of guy, but the zombie apocalypse had brought out the worst from them all.

Without hesitation, nor prior warning, the German—or rather, _Prussian_—snatched the laptop from the _techie_'s hands. Eduard made a tiny noise of protest, but that was all. Gilbert tapped away frantically, lines of worry appearing on his forehead. Upon finding the information he sought, he dropped the device onto the Estonian's lap, and picked up a random weapon. A spear. While he'd usually stray away from long sticks, Gilbert couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. All he really wanted to do was to make sure Basch was safe—as corny and stupid as it sounded.

But who could really blame him? Everyone he cared for was gone for good, except for the Swiss man who embarrassingly enough managed to capture his heart.

Gilbert walked over to the door, sending the shocked group a serious look. "I'll be back in ten." And just like that, he was gone, uncaring of the worried protests from his companions.

Finding his friend hadn't been a hard task. He'd memorized the location from the laptop's screen, knowing the likelihood of Basch straying too far from that position was slim, and stealthily made his way into that direction.

There he was, a short blond man battling more beasts than he could count with his fingers. Gilbert silently dove in, aiding the frantic man to decimate said beasts. At some point or another, after fighting with all their might, they were cornered. Basch nudged him not-so-gently, glaring darkly at him.

"You big idiot," He rasped, "what the hell are you doing—" Interrupting his hushed lecture, the Swiss skillfully struck two zombies that had gotten much too close. Gilbert's eyes surveyed their surroundings. Nothing would sneak up on either of them; he'd make sure of that.

A pale arm swung backwards, stabbing a zombie right in its forehead. Gilbert pulled the spear out, and charged once again, pressing his back against Basch's. Nothing could bite either of them now—those grimy bastards wouldn't stand a chance against them.

The men charged and retreated, only to charge once more. It was almost like a dance—a dance of spears, if you will. A dance that would decide whether or not they'd live to see another day. In no time, Gilbert found himself completely surrounded. Fine by him, he could totally kill every single one of them from all sides now.

Wishful thinking, he knew, but no space was too small for hope.

He ran, struck with all his might. Three went down at once, but that didn't keep the others from pursuing him. Those were struck too, but not by him. It seemed Basch had managed to get his' batch off his back, and was now trying to help him. Foolish bastard.

It was a long, hard fight. Gilbert's spear had shattered into many tiny pieces, rendering it completely and utterly useless. Ingenuity came into play then. He hurled rocks at those beasts, while Basch continued to ruthlessly decimate them with that precious sword of his. Still, despite all the difficulties they'd come across, they'd managed to kill every one of those savages. It didn't take a genius to figure out they had to get away, and get away as soon as they possibly could.

"Beilschmidt, thank you." Basch muttered, kicking away one of those bodies. It wasn't often he expressed gratitude, no wonder the words sounded foreign to Gilbert's ears.

A wide, cocky grin split his face in half. "No worries—I'm always here to save my precious damsel in distress." He teased, nudging his lover gently. The shorter man glared at him—though he was tiny as hell, he could always make himself seem intimidating. No wonder no one dared to cross him.

"I take my words back."

Gilbert whined, "Please, you know it's the truth." From whatever light the moon emitted, he could see the crimson on his cheeks. Never mind him being scary, he was outright adorable. No one could convince him otherwise, not even the devil himself.

He then sighed, glancing at the area once more. "How many of your Squad remain?" Gilbert questioned, voice now laced with a seriousness that wasn't present before. Basch ran a dirty hand through his messy blond locks, before stepping over the fallen zombie bodies.

"Dead. Not a single one alive—" He muttered nonchalantly. It didn't take a genius to figure out he wasn't in the mood of speaking of such matters at the moment. Gilbert couldn't even fathom what his beloved was feeling at this very moment. It was crystal clear, however, that it wasn't something anyone, regardless of whatever terrible sins they've committed, must witness.

And so, they walked. Silence fell upon them. Not that Gilbert minded; there could be times when silence was very well appreciated. Even by him, a man whose main passion was talking his head off.

The light casted off by the bright moon provided just enough light. Trees, some already dead, others just barely surviving, hindered their sight from anything that could possibly sneak on them. In such occasions, one could simply trust their ears, and nothing more. And Gilbert prided himself on his flawless hearing.

So much for having keen ears.

It came as a complete surprise to him when a cold, pale hand grasped his tightly. Wasting not a single second, Basch jumped to action and slashed at the figure blindly, praying to whatever ungraceful god out there it wouldn't get anywhere closer. After prying those fingers off his arm, Gilbert pulled the Swiss man as he broke into a quick, frantic run. Jesus Christ, zombies weren't even supposed to be this active at such ungodly hours of the night.

They had to get out of here soon, before any more unnecessary casualties occurred. Oh, God forbid that from happening. He'd rather lose his forearm than his life now.

Not too many minutes later, both men found themselves hiding behind a large boulder. Their chests heaved, damp hair sticking to their faces uncomfortably as they attempted to make as little sound as possible.

It was quiet, much too quiet for comfort.

A low sigh left Basch's lips. He kicked the ground thoughtfully, as if he'd just remembered something particularly painful. "Today would've been Christmas, you know?" As opposed to his former hostile tone, this one was much softer.

"How…?" Gilbert didn't even know how many years had passed since they last lived in complete peace. It could only be a month, for all he knew. His concept of days, weeks, months and years had been demolished long since.

"I've been keeping track of the days. It's weird to live without knowing what day it is."

Gilbert nodded, gently grasping the other's hand. Basch made no move to take it away. In fact, he scooted just a bit closer to him. Just a bit. But he noticed nonetheless. "So, it's Christmas. Nearly died on our favorite day, gotta love the way life works."

They were stupid, talking like this when they were being pursued. Rule number one to surviving such a precarious scenario: shut your mouth and don't make a damn sound, even if it means you have to staple your pants onto the ground.

Basch suddenly stiffened. Gilbert glanced around in worry, hoping to find the cause of this action. It came as a surprise when a sword—Basch's sword—flew right over his shoulder, narrowly missing his cheek. The German—_Prussian_—stared down at him in confusion, trying to make sense of his actions.

Looking over his shoulder, his crimson eyes fell on the now dead, or rather deader, zombie. He let out a sigh, standing up to his full height and assed the area once more. Taking Basch's hand and pulling him up, Gilbert snickered. He leant down, gingerly pressing a sweet kiss onto his forehead.

"Just like when we first met. Remember?"

Basch looked up at him, surprise his moonlit features. After processing those words, he could help but laugh at the comment. Perhaps he too recognized that.

"Yeah. Except that the sword was pointed at you." He replied dryly, breaking into a light trot. Gilbert followed, chuckling softly at that memory. Still, he was fairly sure it had been a gun, not a sword. But he was old, and his memory only served for battle plans and locations. It was possible he was grossly mistaken.

If they weren't under such deadly circumstances, he would've definitely called this a romantic stroll under the moon and stars and everything beyond. However, much to his chagrin, that was far from the reality.

He glanced back at Basch. "I never thought I'd end up falling for you…" He then murmured thoughtfully, a sweet smile on his face. Basch huffed, squeezing his hand to show he'd heard.

"Yeah, I love you too. Now, unless we want to be eaten, let's hurry the fuck up!"

Author's Note:

This fic is for Sian (Gr3yh0unds on Tumblr), as her gift for the APH Rarepair Secret Santa. I hope you like it, friend! Oh, and merry Christmas! Hope you have a good one!


End file.
